


When the Promised Day Comes

by inbetweenfractals



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Time Travel, not really a fix it exactly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-17 01:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13648194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbetweenfractals/pseuds/inbetweenfractals
Summary: The Promised Day goes to hell. In a desperate bid to fix everything, Ed goes back in time, back to before his Mom died and he and Al lost their bodies, back to before the homunculi destroyed everything. He's going to fix it all this time. And he'll do it alone if he has to.It's all for when the Promised Day comes.





	1. return

( _ Alphonse Elric _ )

( _ 1905 _ )

It just happened one day. Brother became kind of weird. It was so sudden. That’s probably why I remember it so well.

Something changed, and I don’t really know what. And I have never been able to figure out why since.

The day started like usual: I left Brother sleeping in our room and went downstairs. Mom was already in the kitchen, stirring batter. Mom makes the best pancakes. She saw me, smiled, and handed me a cool glass of milk.

Brother hates both milk and mornings, though now he gets up early anyway. He always used to sleep in. Now he likes to say mornings were invented by someone nasty. Actually, he likes to say a different word, the one he calls Dad. Mom always scolds him whenever she hears. I don’t think you’re supposed to use the kind of language he does. He always tells me not to use it if I try and copy him.

Which I don’t! I know which words are bad. It’s just, Brother doesn’t seem to, is all.

Anyway, we never would wake him up until breakfast was ready. He’d be an absolute terror if we did.

But that morning was different. Mom and I heard a shout from upstairs and turned to look at each other. We didn’t know what was going on. We thought maybe he got hurt somehow. I dunno. Before we could say anything, or do anything, there was a pounding of feet on the stairs and Brother appeared in the doorway.

He stared at us. All wide-eyed. Scared, almost. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, and stared some more. It was like he thought he was still dreaming.

And then he got that frown-smile on his face, which always appears either when he wants to smile and is trying to hide it or when he’s about to cry and is trying to hide it.

Mom began to ask if he was okay, but Brother cut her off by dashing forward and hugging us. His shoulders shook a little, so I thought he might be crying, but when he stepped back he was grinning.

He didn’t look scared anymore. He just looked really happy.

“Okay?” he said. “I’m so much better than okay.”

And that was the first weird day.

Later, I would catch him looking at Mom and me with the same expression Winry gets when she looks at photographs of her parents. Winry’s parents are - well, they’re gone, doing doctor work in Ishval. But we’ve never been gone, so I don’t get it. But whenever Brother ever notices my noticing, he just grins and distracts me with alchemy (which is always distracting).

But alchemy became weird too. Brother suddenly seemed to know a lot more than me. He’d rattle off a formula and frown at me when I asked him what it was. Like I should have known. Which is frustrating! How can I be expected to know what I haven’t learned yet?

Then he would tell me to think about “all is one, one is all”. I didn’t get it for the longest time, which I think upset him. In the end he started muttering about plopping me on a deserted island, which I  _ still _  don’t understand.

Brother began reading different books than me, all about anatomy and diseases and advanced alchemy. I wasn’t even really sure what the titles meant on a couple of those books. I think they might have been in foreign languages. I asked him about what was in those books, but all he would ever do would be to shake his head and say, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” Pointing out our one-year age difference would only make him burst out snickering. Stupid brother.

Sometimes when performing alchemy, he would jerk his hands together, pause, sigh, grumble and grab a piece of chalk, make a big production out of the whole thing. I didn’t understand that, nor did I understand why he used his left hand to draw when he was right-handed. He wrote with his left hand too and his handwriting was even worse than before.  When he took notes, they were incomprehensible and read like a travel journal to all these places I’d never heard of, like Dublith and Liore.

Brother has never been outside of Risembool.

But there were  _ all sorts _  of weird things Brother began doing. He smiled at Winry more often, but his personality grew worse: he scowled more often, cursed, cut class sometimes. When Mom scolded him, he would frown-smile but her words never seemed to touch him. I don’t think she knew what to do with him. (I sure didn’t.)

He began to exercise every day and even asked me to spar with him, saying that to train the mind, one first must train the body. Mom thought we were fighting at first, especially when he beat me all the time. It took a while before I was able to beat him most of the time. I’m really pretty proud of that. I remember the first time I beat him. He didn’t seem surprised, just ruffled my hair and said, “I knew you’d get there.”

When he was asleep, he would moan and cry. Every once in a while, he would start apologizing in his sleep, to me, and Mom, and Winry, and sometimes to people we’ve never met. If ever Mom heard him and came in to comfort him, he would start at seeing her and press up against the wall. At those times he looked like a scared cat. Sometimes I think he began getting up early just so he wouldn’t have to sleep so long.

Brother wrote notes even when not working with alchemy and even sent a couple letters that he tried to hide from Mom and me. I asked him once about it.

“Huh? Oh, I’m just organizing something. Yeah.”

“Organizing what? A party?”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s a party.” He reached over and tousled my hair, which was an annoying thing he’d gotten into the habit of doing. I wondered who he would invite. He was never really friendly with the other kids in school.

Course, the party never happened. I think that might be because of the weirdest thing that happened. Because none of these was the weirdest thing. No, the weirdest thing was this: the day that we came home to find that Mom had collapsed, that was the same day Brother lost his arm.

 

The Promised Day went to hell. I mean, okay, it was supposed to be hell anyway, but it wasn’t supposed to  _ go _  there. We were supposed to be able to win. Now, I’m not so sure about ‘supposed to’, however much I have to rely on it. If we were supposed to be able to win, we sure fucked up bad. So many were dead, gone, in the process of dying. There are too many names to recite, too many for a memorial, or anything. I don’t know all of them, or even most of ‘em.

Al was gone.

Father won.

Or, nearly. He nearly won.

He stood over me, looking less human than ever. Something, some emotion - triumph, I think, but something about it totally sick and wrong and inhuman - twisted his face.

He raised one of his bone-white hands, like a priest giving a blessing, and suddenly, all of Central was in the Gate.

It was weird, ‘cause everything was there, the buildings, the people, Father, me, but everything was white too. All superimposed. Like those double exposure photographs, sort of. It’s hard to explain. It’s even hard to remember, honestly.

The being that’s in the Gate - Truth is as good a name as any for it - stood. It wasn’t smiling like it usually does. It looked  _ pissed _ . Its mouth was curled into this ugly scowl. It began to walk forward, and from every step, the whiteness spread.

It strode past me and grabbed Father by the neck. It was a move that should have been aggressive, but Truth’s body language is so hard to read, that it almost looked as casual as a Sunday stroll.

“You have overstepped your bounds, homunculus,” Truth said. Its voice was emotionless and angry and deep and metallic and high all at once.

Then, just as suddenly as it fell into the Gate, all of Central was gone. Even Father.

Except me. I was still there.

“The hell did you just do?!” I shouted, leaping to my feet. “Give ‘em back!”

Truth turned towards me. There’s something really gross and uncanny in the way it moves. Its head turned before its body did.

It grinned at me.

“Relax, Mr. Alchemist. I’ve done nothing to harm your people. Instead, I offer you a deal to  _ save _  those very people.”

“Oh, yeah?” I challenged, fists clenched. Al might lecture me about looking gift horses in the mouth, but I’ve never learned. “Why? Why now?”

“I cannot allow other beings to surpass me and shift the world order. There is only one Truth, after all. Unfortunately, I am unable to interfere directly with the world outside the Gate. It wasn’t until the homunculus landed you all here that I could establish control.”

“Uh-huh. So why are you asking me?”

“As the one who has passed through the Gate more times than any other, you hold the greatest truth within you -  and therefore the greatest connection to me. Therefore, you are the easiest living being to establish contact with - and to take out of the existing order of things. Besides, you have proven yourself adept at adapting to swiftly changing situations. And you have a goal. You have a lot to lose, don’t you?”

I gritted my teeth. “Fuck you, of course I do.”

“I propose you go back in time and fix things.”

“What?” Okay, I really wanted to say impossible, but given everything, well, it reminded me of something the first Greed would say:  _ There is no such thing as no such thing _ . My eyes narrowed, I asked, “What’s the price?”

“No physical price. Your mind and soul will travel back to your body of the time. However, do not expect to regain the same relationships you have now ever again. Equivalent exchange: I shift time, you stop the homunculus.”

I thought for a moment.  _ I need this. _  Everyone was dead, I couldn’t do anything, and here I was getting a chance to save them all handed to me on a silver platter. Almost too good to be true, but no other options were occurring to me. “Sounds like a deal. When?”

What else could I say?

“Your choice, Mr. Alchemist.”

I nodded. “Alright. Bring me back to – ”

 

( _ The year is 1904. Late summer. _ )

I wake slowly. I can feel sunlight warm on my eyelids. It’s…strange. I haven’t felt so light in a long time, not since I was just a kid.

With that thought, my eyes snap open and I sit up abruptly. The world spins and settles into familiar shapes. I stare down at my hands. They are both flesh, smooth, unmarked, a little pudgy. Child’s hands.

I cry out in surprise and realization.

Shit, the Promised Day! I glance about wildly and recognize the room that Al and I slept in as kids.

_ Al _ .

I throw off the covers and dash to the stairs. There’s the unfamiliar sound of two bare feet slapping wooden steps. My hands - right, left - scrape over the banister.

I stop in the doorway, breathless.

It’s Mom. It’s Al.

I’m back.

No, I can’t be. This is the part of the dream where Al disappears and Mom starts dripping blood and reaching out to me and asking me why _oh_   _why couldn’t you put me together right_  –

Nothing happens. They watch me. Mom has a slight frown crinkling her forehead. Al looks bright and confused.

I’m dreaming. I have to be. I’ll wake up and the world will be in ruins because shit, we screwed up, the homunculi won, everyone’s dead, Central is in ashes –

I rub my eyes and look up. They’re still there. I close my eyes again and pinch myself, hard. It stings. I dare to glance at them again.

They’re still there.

Am I really not dreaming?

Am I really back?

It’s all real. My chest aches. I really did travel back in time. My eyes prickle. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I want to cry. No, I don’t. I can’t cry. I have to be strong for my little brother, because there’s no one else. No, Mom’s here. He has Mom.  _We_  have Mom. My mouth is tightening. I’m back. I have to be the strong one. I’m home.

Mom opens her mouth, saying something about being okay, but I can’t even really hear her because I’m already barreling forward and wrapping my arms around her. She’s so warm.

Al has stepped down from his perch on the stool and I wrap an arm around him too.

I’m shaking. I can feel it. From the way that Mom’s grip tightens on me, I can tell she feels it too.

I don’t know if I’m happy, I don’t know what I feel, but I know that it’ll be okay. I’ll  _ make _  it okay. They’ll live this time. I  _ will _  make it happen.

And I  _ won't  _ get them involved in my mess.

I step back and I know I’m grinning. “Okay?” I say. “I’m so much better than okay.”

_ And you will be too. I promise. _


	2. as if in a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's do the time warp agaaaaaiiiiin.   
> Also I shouldn't be messing with yet more multi-chapter fic but ohhhhh welll.

I love Mom, but I get so frustrated sometimes. Not because of her, no, but because of me. It's seriously always me, isn't it? Well, anyway, it makes me so mad but, I can't help it. It's just, sometimes when Mom comes close to me, I can't help but flinch. She looks hurt and I know that I'm causing it.

I just can't stop expecting to see the thing I made, organs on the outside, distended bones, vomit and blood and urine running into each other and mingling on the floor. And those eyes. Accusing.

I just can't help it.

 

I bury myself in books. I know what Mom had ( _ has _ ), I know how it slowly makes her lungs harden, how they become like stone. I know the composition of the disease, I know how to decompose it (thank you, Scar and Mei and medical alchemy). I know what to do.

I just have to make sure it’s perfect, correct. I will be dealing with what is past medical alchemy, going into human transmutation. Though I understand Truth and the Gate better perhaps than any other living being (definitely better than any other human), I have to be careful. I have this chance to save Mom. I won’t let it slip through my fingers.

Al is always pestering me about what I’m reading. It’s cute and annoying and terrifying at the same time. I don’t want him to go down this path. He never has to know. I don’t want him involved in the coming battle.

_ No, don’t think about that now. Focus on Mom. _

Absently, I direct Al to a more well-rounded text. He pouts, but I continue to read,  _ God the most high took from the soul and from the earth of the body the heat and the fire, leaving the cool and the water. The breath meddled with the thought as did the thought with the breath and both grew to turn each other to water and sleep. Without fire, the body and soul stagnated and dissolved. The people cried for their God… _

“Brother, I’m bored. Let’s do some alchemy.”

I bite my lip. The book isn’t that helpful anyway. I’m running my head in circles at this point. Besides, Al is pulling the eyes that make him look like the kittens he likes to rescue from the rain.

I snap the book shut. “Alright, what do you want to try?”

 

Seeing Winry is weird as hell. When I saw Al, I was already used to remembering his face as kinda pudgy, cause he was a kid before everything. Mom was always Mom. For them, it wasn’t that big a jump.

But seeing Winry as kid? Oh, boy, that is  _ weird _ .

I was used to her being tall (taller than me, for all her being a girl,  _ dammit _ , except for when I  _ finally  _  grew taller), with longer hair, earrings, and a…and a  _ chest _ and everything. She would laugh or smile and I’d feel all warm. She would look at me, just really look at me, and I’d turn red without even knowing why. I think I really…think I really…I…

What’s the point of saying it now when it isn’t my Winry to hear? She’s just a kid. I can’t think of her like that. Not now. It’d be weird. Wrong. It’s not like I do think of her like that right now, so why am I even bothering about it? Come on, Elric.

She’s just a kid.

Oh, she’s frowning at me. I’m glad she doesn’t have a wrench on hand, cause it looks like she just might throw one at me.

“What?” I grumble at her. If I’m irritated, maybe I won’t think.

“Ed,” Winry begins, and, oh, the frown is in her voice too. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading.” Nominally.

“Ms. Wilkins sent me to go get you. You’re not supposed to miss class if you aren’t sick.”

“I’m sick of being in her class. That old bat is boring as hell.”

If anything, her frown doubles. Her fingers are twitching. Yep, really glad she doesn’t have a wrench right now. “You aren’t supposed to say things like that. Come on.” With that, she leans down and grabs my arm.

I nearly drop my physio text as she drags me off to learn my two times tables.


	3. the first of many

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last one for right now

Every nerve in my body thrums with tension. Today’s the day (the first of many promised days). Today’s the day Mom will collapse. It’s the tipping point for her disease. I remember. How could I forget? It was the beginning of the end. But it doesn't have to be. Not again.

The day is sunny, if a bit cool and breezy. My grip on my bag of vegetables tightens. I can feel the burlap leaving marks on my fingertips, new imprints, new fingerprints. Al’s looking at me a bit like  _ Brother, are you okay _ but I’m not paying his expression much attention.

_ Today’s the day. Today’s the day. _

The walk back up to the house seems interminably long. My feet drag too slowly, but I can’t run cause Al’s here. There’s dust on my shoes. The breeze whips at my hair and my bangs are getting into my eyes. Al’s saying something, but I can’t really hear him.

_ Today’s the day. _

I take a breath and open the door. Al begins to call, “We’re home!” but breaks off when he sees Mom’s body on the floor. He drops his groceries. I drop mine too, a second belatedly. Tomatoes splat on the floor. Liquid splatters my legs. For a second I think  _ blood _ but it’s too cool and watery. It’s only tomato juice.

I rush to Mom’s side and feel her pulse. It’s steady, good. I look up at Al, who is wavering, pale, in the doorway. He looks like he’s about to cry or be sick, or both at once.

“Al, hey, Alphonse.” I’m trying for my gentlest voice. I’m not great at gentle; I can see it in his face. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna make it okay. Go get Granny Pinako, alright?”

Behind the make-believe gentle, there’s my promise.  _ I’m gonna make it okay. I promise. _

Al nods and bolts out the door. I have about ten minutes before he gets back with the Rockbells (because I just know Winry’s going to come along. Nothing stops her). 

“Alright, time to get to work, Fullmetal," I tell myself.

I roll Mom to her side so she can breathe more easily. Her breath is rasping and her face is very sweaty. She looks like a ghost already, she’s so pallid. 

“Today’s the day,” I mutter.

The circle comes to me. It's easy, almost. I've been thinking about it since I got back to this time. And before, even, if I'm honest. I look it over in my head. It’s correct. Can never be too careful. 

For the first time since I’ve come back to this time, I clap my hands. I touch them to her cold skin.

I can feel the disease shudder and dismantle, even as the Gate takes me.

 

Truth is always such a sorry looking bastard.

“You come here with full knowledge of the price,” Truth says simply.

“Yes,” I say. I’ve done my calculations; I know what I’m going to lose. I grip my right arm, memorizing the feel of warm flesh beneath my fingers even as it dissolves. (It's the hand I held hers with when she died.) My arm reconstructs itself on Truth.

It shakes its head and sighs. “You never learn.”

I glare at it. I chose this year  _ for a reason _ . 

It steps back, waving my arm in a gesture of  _ go ahead  _ as the doors of the Gate open. I bare my teeth and make a rude hand gesture as I pass by.

I hope I never have to see the sorry bastard again.

 

I wake to pain. Blood is in my mouth, tasting of copper and iron and salt. Oh fucking hell, it _hurts so bad. Shit shit shit._ Almost as bad as the first time, with Al being gone (I need him back) and _so much_ blood not all of it mine and _that_ on the floor mangled bones dark with red and muscles glinting glisten bile and sweat _that_ _isn’t Mom no it isn’t it isn’t_ …

Mom!

My head clears and I remember. I grit my teeth and force the pain to recede. Not useful, not helpful. Mom, okay, I can do this. Come on. Get your act together, Fullmetal.

I drag myself over to my mother and listen to her breathe. It’s clear. She’s not sick anymore. I think there might be a little lasting damage from lack of oxygen (hands shaking, tremors) but she’s alive. She’s alive.

I laugh, dizzy with success and blood loss and  _ it hurts _ and that strange light feeling of not having all your limbs. 

“I did it, I did it!”

I fall back, grinning and gripping my arm as hard as possible to staunch what blood I can. Too bad I can’t make a tourniquet with only one arm or even close the wound with alchemy. Oh, and everything is spinning a bit, looking kinda grayish, blackish, ‘specially at the edges. Shit.

_ Shit, son of a bitch, to hell anyway! _

“I did it…”

I can feel Mom stir next to me. Small bubbles of laughter fall from my lips.  _ Sorry, everyone, I know it’s kind of a gross sight. But hey, only one limb this time…and Al is safe....s’gotta count for something… _

The world tastes like victory and blood.

 

( _ Trisha Elric _ )

The most terrifying thing in the world is to find your child dying, soaked in a pool of his own blood. And  _ oh _ it is so red it’s so red, red, red, crimson…

I’ve never seen death before. I’ve seen birth before, three times, my two boys and Sara’s daughter. Birth is bloody. I always thought that blood was life  _ because _ it is birth. I really never had seen death before. I heard of mine, coming, coming (and where is Van? I need him, I need him here) pounding on my door, and I am so afraid for my boys. What will they do when I am gone? And here I see death, in the red of my son.

_ What happened? _

“Ed,” I whisper. I crawl towards him on my knees. I feel disoriented, light, my head is whirling and I see white flashing in the corners.  _ No, don’t fade out now. Your son, your son! _

I can see him breathing. He’s still alive. Thank goodness. I put my hand on his shoulder and – shudder back. I swallow acrid revulsion. Not at my Edward but  _ where is his arm? _

Oh my god. It’s gone.

“Edward, what happened?”  _ Did you…? _ He can’t hear me. Of course he can’t.

_ He can’t hear me _ .

There’s no helping it now. I turn away quickly just before I vomit up everything I’ve eaten. And then a greater horror strikes me: if this is what happened to Edward, then where is Alphonse?

I can hear someone screaming. I wonder who it is.


	4. child sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I've gotten such a nice response from people!! Aaaaaa
> 
> Btw points if you get the little Firefly reference!

I wake to pain again, the throb of recent loss of limb, concerned voices. “And we’re back,” I whisper. A wry grin comes onto my face before I can smooth out my expression again.

A cool hand touches my forehead. “Are you awake, sweetheart?”

I open my eyes and Mom is there. Her cheeks are a little flushed and I hear no dull rasp dragging at the ends of her words. There’s something in her eyes, her expression, as she looks at me, but I pretend not to see it. I give her a wavering smile. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

As soon as she says it, she winces a little, because the answer to that must be no. I wonder if she thinks it strange that I seem so unaffected by the pain. Yeah, it really hurts, but if I screamed my head off about everything that hurt, I’d never stop screaming. ‘specially not when I was fighting the homunculi, and during the Promised Day. Oh, and that time with Kimbley. There were a lot of times when it was…bad…then.

So, yeah, it hurts. Actually, shit, it hurts. But I’m pretty good at not showing it.

“I…I think I will be.”

I don’t know if that is something that a little kid would say. This whole time it’s been hard because I’ve forgotten. The only little kids I’ve been near in the last couple years have been Elicia and Nina.

Nina.

I gulp, swallow back the feel of tears crawling up my throat.  _ We couldn’t even save a little girl… _ but maybe I can save her now.

Mom just said something. Whoops. “What?” I say.

“Do you know what happened to you?”

I blanch. I still don’t know what I’m gonna say here even though I’ve been agonizing over it for the last month. How do I explain away the loss of an arm? (And because I’ve just thought about it, my arm decides to give me a pretty painful twinge. Lovely. Thanks.)  _ Can _ I explain it away? Or do I tell the truth?

“Yeah, my arm, it’s gone. I know. Hey, um, Mom? You and Al are okay, right?”

I’ll avoid for now. 

“We are perfectly fine, we’re just worried about you. You should get some rest for now, sweetie.”

Endearments are weird. I'm not sweet, haven't even been close in years. I just don't understand them. Anymore.

“Yeah, okay.”

She strokes my forehead as I close my eyes and fade again into sleep.

 

Winry is standing by my bed, fists clenched. She’s crying. I hate it when she cries. “You’re so  _ stupid! _ Why’d you have to, have to go lose your stupid arm, Ed?”

“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” I reach out and grasp her shoulder.

“Only you! Only you could lose your whole stupid arm!”  And suddenly, she drops onto my bed and sobs into my shoulder. “How did that even happen?”

I freeze, partway from the question, partway from the contact. I hugged Mom and Al that first day but really…it’s been a while since I’ve been hugged by anyone. I remember somewhat vaguely, in the time before Mom died, in my original timeline, I told Mom that I was as good as an adult and didn’t need to be babied, to be hugged and kissed on the forehead. So she held off, and so she’s been holding off even now.

I was so stupid then. I haven’t gotten around to remedying that yet, but I’ve been busy making sure she wouldn’t die this time.

Hey, Elric. Get back to the here and now. Winry. Tears. Gotta do something.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But things will be better. I promise, Winry.”

I promise, I promise, I promise.

 

Al doesn’t cry, and that’s somehow worse. He stares at me with wide eyes. After what feels like centuries of staring, he speaks.

“Brother…I don’t know as much alchemy as you do, but I’m, I’m  _ not _ stupid. You did what the books say not to do, didn’t you?”

Damn. I had kinda hoped...well, who am I kidding? I sigh and say, “I’ve always given you credit for being a smart kid.”

He really is. I’m proud of him.

“Bro _ ther _ …” he whines in that particularly annoying way he has. I am  _ not _ so proud of the whine. He mostly grows out of it by the time he’s fifteen, though he still does (still will, still did?) get that supremely bitchy tone when I piss him off.

Fuck it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. Mom will be okay now. That’s the point.”

Al opens his mouth, then shuts it. I wait. He’s thinking it through. “So…you can use human transmutation to save people?”

Oh, hell no. We are  _ not _ going down this path. Al is never gonna commit the taboo, not as long as I have any say about it.

“Sort of. There’s always a price, see.” His eyes flick to my empty shirt sleeve. Yeah, he gets it. “Don’t ever try it. I knew what I was doing and I still lost something. Seriously.” I find his eyes and hold them. “ _ Don’t ever do it _ .”

“Then why can you do it? How did you know what you were doing, and why can’t I?”

“I’m never doing it again. Al, listen to me. You could lose your organs or even disappear completely. I knew what I was doing but that’s because I…read a special book. I’ve burnt it, so you can’t read it.”

“But – ”

“Why are you even arguing with me? Do you wanna go and lose an arm too? Oh yeah, we’d make quite the pair. The piecemeal brothers, roaming the countryside, hurrah. Looking to put ourselves back together again. No. I’m not going to see anything like that happen to you, Al. End of story.”

“I – I just want to – you’re leaving me out of everything and I hate it! What’s wrong with you?”

There. Al’s yelling at me. I mean, I don’t like it when he yells at me, but I don’t want him near any of this stuff. I’m going to keep him safe this time. I’m not allowing him to get involved in anything.

“I’m sorry, Al. Just…just trying to make things right this time.”

He just shakes his head and runs out of the room – and into Mom. Shit, she was standing in the doorway, listening. For how long? Fuck, I hadn’t come up with anything clever yet.

She comes into the room all quiet. Al’s already gone, run off somewhere. Probably to the river. He always went (goes) there to cry. After Mom died, he went to her grave. (That will never happen again. I won’t let it.)

Mom approaches the bed like someone might approach a wild animal. When she is only a couple of feet away from my bed, she asks, “Is this true? Did you really perform that, human transmutation, on me?”

She says the words  _ human transmutation _ quickly, as if trying to get through them as quickly as possible. I don’t blame her.

Shit, what do I say? I really don’t have any clever lies yet. Can I stall this conversation?

You know what? Screw it. I’m not that great at lying anyway.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

Alright, well here I  _ do _ have to lie, because saying I’m from the future to all and sundry is just going to get me checked into an asylum. And those places are  _ fucked up _ . Got locked in one for half a week once before Al found me. I would've broken out myself if it weren't for those fucking  _ needles.  _ I never want to think about that again.

“I overheard a bit of what the doctor said to you so, um, please don’t be mad, but I took a peek at his notes. I got really scared when they said that your disease was terminal. But I remembered seeing in Dad’s books lots of stuff on medical alchemy, which is toeing the line to the taboo anyway. So I did some research because I thought maybe that could cure you. I was going to talk to the doctor about it, but when I saw you on the floor I got really scared and used the circle I learned to cure you. And it worked, didn’t it? It did, so all’s good.”

Ugh, I’m babbling. I am such a bad liar. Hopefully no one will realize that there is no chalk on the floor where she collapsed.

“Oh, honey,” Mom says, sitting on the edge of my bed. She strokes my forehead with one hand. “I just…I never realized you could do something so brilliant at this age. I’m both proud of you and…well, you must never do that again. I’ve been very worried.”

“Has the doctor checked you? You’re good, right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Dr. Tam was quite amazed. But, Edward, promise me that you will never commit the taboo again. The cost is not worth you living your life unwhole.”

“I promise.”

I will never commit the full taboo again and try to bring someone back from the dead. I’ve learned my lesson.

However, human transmutation otherwise? I might need it on the road ahead.

“Oh, um, Mom? I know this isn’t the best time, I want to get automail.”

She pales. “You do know that the surgery is very painful. Even grown men – ”

“ – can’t handle it, yes, I know. But I’m sure I can handle it.”

“And it’s completely impossible for a few years, because it is so heavy…”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to do it.”

“I know that too. But I have to. I’ll get it in two years.”

“No.” Her face is very white. Like chalk. “You’ll only be – ”

“I’m almost six.” What a weird thing to say. “In two years I’ll be eight. They’ve put automail on eight year olds before.” Rarely. I’ve done my research though, and I found two documented cases of successful automail surgery on kids that young. I think maybe Paninya too, but I’ve never asked so I don’t know.

“But not on you.”

“If I could, I would get it now. I know I can’t, but I  _ will _ get a new arm in two years.” I know I don’t sound like a five year old. Too forceful. Or something. But I know it sounds wrong.

Mom shakes her head, standing up. “We’ll talk about this later.” She brushes a kiss against my forehead and is gone.


	5. learned helplessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I couldn’t help myself...here you go.

I like getting out of the house sometimes, you know? Nice and quiet. Love it. Ha.

It’s good to be somewhere else for a while. Mom’s been a little cold to me lately. I mean, I think – I’m pretty sure she still loves me. I’m sure! It’s okay. She’s probably just a little freaked over the human transmutation thing, is all. Not every day your apparently five year old son cures an incurable deadly illness and loses a limb in the process.

She’ll be fine.

So yeah, I decided to take a walk, get fresh air. I can’t let my muscles atrophy because that’ll make the automail rehabilitation take longer. Not that I’m gonna be doing that for a couple years. Ugh. Although I’m allowed out of bed now, Granny Pinako tells me I shouldn’t go too far. Humph.

It’s tough - it’s weird to adjust to having only one arm. As long as forever, I’ve either had both arms or I have the arm that Winry made me. I’ve rarely had to deal with having just one arm. And now I have to deal for two years. And then they will have to cut open the stump and  _ then _ deal with the port and nerve attachments and all that stuff - 

I don’t really want to think about it.

Well, anyway. Perhaps it’s a weird place to walk to, but currently I’m sitting by the entrance to the cemetery. No one is there now. Not even Winry’s parents. Not yet. They’re too far away and I can’t reach them. I don’t think that I can save them as I am now.

Hey, hey, hey! Fuck you, Fullmetal. These are Winry’s  _ parents _ you’re talking about here. Her  _ parents _ . You gotta do what you can.

It sucks so bad, being ‘five’. I hate being helpless. Course, they aren’t in danger yet. It’s 1904 now, so it’ll be…what, four years before Executive Order 3066? Yeah, four years. Then the state alchemists’ll get out there. I feel bad for Mustang and Armstrong (and everyone else who’ll be there). Fucking Envy.

But not Kimbley though. Kimbley blasts Scar’s face and arm off, Scar wakes up in the Rockbells’ clinic, goes mad, kills all the Amestrians he can find, which just happen to be Sara and Urey Rockbell. Okay, so I have to stop that from happening.

I can’t stop Kimbley’s crazy, but can I do something about the Rockbells or Scar?

I dunno about Scar. Hmm.

Maybe I could write the Rockbells or something. Like…like “oh, there’s gonna be this Ishvalan man with his face blasted open and this weird ass tattoo on his arm and you need to be really careful about him cause he’s going to kill you”?

Yeah, I really don’t know about that. Damn it to hell, this whole “rework the past” thing is tough.

Oh, crap. I have grass stains on my pants. Mom won’t be too happy.

 

I think Al’s still mad at me. I don’t get it. 

Okay, so I guess I do sort of get it. I’ve never left him out of anything before. He’s very hung up on the whole “brothers should do everything together” thing that little kids like. It’s not like he really wants to commit the taboo or lose his body; no one does. But the fact that I didn’t tell him, didn’t let him in on it at all…

Fine. I do get it. Hopefully he’ll get over it in time.

But that kid can sure hold a grudge…dammit. Let’s see what I can do ‘bout that. I’m good at distractions; half my personality is distractions.

“Hey, Al! Do you know where that book on Heim’s theories got to?”

“Brother, how could you lose it?”

“I didn’t lose it! It’s just – somewhere. Come on, help me look.”

“Bro _ ther… _ ”

 

At this point, there isn’t much I can do. I’m useless physically without an arm. For now, I write down what dates I know. Of course, I write it in code so that Al or Mom don’t find it and think I’m insane.

_ 1907 – surgery for my automail this time ‘round _

_ 1908 – Ishval War ends (Exec. Order 3066: state alchemists deployed) _

_ 1908 spring – Teacher comes by Risembool _

_ 1908-1909 – Scar kills Winry’s parents (we only receive news in ’09) _

…and so on. Some dates take a little more digging, like the year that Tucker (that goddamn son of a bitch) transmuted his wife. It’s not much, but it is what I can do now.

Beyond that, I exercise, read through our books, teach Al what I can, and try to send letters to my old man. I do my best to keep them vague so that most people won’t understand ‘em (that won’t stop the homunculi though). He never responds and I don’t think any of them reach him, but I write them out and send them anyway.

 

_ Hohenheim, _

_ I know that your best bud’s family is planning to do the same thing to this country as they did to your old one. If you want to know how I know and what I know (because I know more than just that), then write back to me or drag your sorry ass back here. _

_ I’m going to need you when the Promised Day comes. _

_ Your son, _

_ Edward _

 

Mom smiles at me more often now. It makes me so happy sometimes. I know it’s a childish way to think, but I can’t really help it. Even though I’ve now been back in the past for over a year, I can never quite believe it. I’m always waiting for blood to begin dripping down her face and dribbling out of her mouth. Sometimes I hear the rattling breath of that  _ thing _ we made trying to bring her back. I whirl around, but there’s nothing there.

There’s nothing there.

I’m in the past, Mom isn’t dead, the homunculi don’t know who I am yet. Hawkeye and Hughes and all the rest are about to be dragged into the war, and Mustang is going to kill a lot of people.

I’m a child missing an arm. There’s nothing I can do. Not yet.

And it drives me fucking mad.


	6. you gotta be strong, kid

“Are you nervous?”

“Me?  _ Never _ . I can take it.”

Winry gives me a disbelieving look. Granny Pinako is busy readying her instruments and tools, but she pauses long enough to ask me if I’m sure.

“Jeez, Granny, how many times do I have to say it? I’m sure!  Just begin and get it over with already.”

“Just making sure, boy.”

Winry gives me the strap to bite down on as Pinako readies her saw.

It hurts. It hurts fuck it hurts stop it stop it did it really hurt this much the first time? You didn’t have to get your arm cut up again the first time you dumb shit are you seriously this bad this much of a _wimp_ \- 

Fuck, fuck fuck _fuck_ it hurts. Fuck I can’t think, it hurts so damn bad.

Be strong be strong Fullmetal fuck you, you are a state alchemist aren’t you gotta be strong now fucking act like it.

Be strong it hurts be strong gotta, gotta be strong for Al – 

 

The fever is almost relaxing after the pain. ‘least I didn’t scream. Kept that up from the first time. Yeah, go me.

I open my eyes and see blurs that only sort of resolve into a short blond blob and a taller blob with brown hair. “Hey, I di’ better dis time, huh? Only one limb, s’easier.” My tongue feels thick in my mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart.” It sounds like Mom. Can she be here? One limb, she’s here. 

Or else Al isn’t.

My stomach swoops downward. I cry out, “Mom? Al?”

“We’re here.”

“You okay, brother?”

They’re safe. They’re safe. Good. That’s all I want in the world. 

I smile vaguely in the direction of the blob that I think is Al. “Yeah, ‘course I am. I’m your big bro, I’m always here. An’ I don’ have to worry ‘bout you never forgiving me now.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Los’ your body, ‘member? Nah, course you don’, but I do, ‘cause all my fault. You’d never be so dumb wi’out me to drag you into it. Fucked up, ha’ to get you ba’. Got you all ba’ now.”

“Shh, shh. Alphonse, we need to let your brother get some rest. Get some sleep now, Ed.”

There’s the feeling of a cool hand on my forehead and I think I smile.

 

The only plus about going through rehabilitation a second time is that I don’t have quite the same time crunch as I did the first time round. I’m starting earlier this time and that allows me to have a better focus.

Also, I already know that I can do it in a year. Okay, two plusses.

Oh, and I don’t have to worry about what I’ve done to Al and how I can fix it (if he can ever forgive me).

Doesn’t make it feel any better though. I feel like complete and total shit, made worse by the fact that I’m like three years younger this time. Or, at least, my body is. Even after this much time to get used to the idea, time travel messes me up.

The exercises are painful, but the good kind of pain. The pain you can do something about and work through. I take it more slowly this time. I think vomiting blood again would freak out Al worse than it did in my old time. And Mom would probably put a halt to everything if she could. Granny Pinako tried to get me to slow down last time, but I never listened. Besides, she's never been able to control a damn thing I do.

So I'm careful. I'm a  _good boy_ , like my great-aunt used to call me. Hah, what did she know?

Good boy, indeed.

 

( _Trisha Elric_ )

He didn't scream. Not even once.

Pinako tried to make me leave, but I stayed the whole time. I could see he was close a few times, near to fainting at others, but he never did more than cry out.

Did something happen? Did I not pay attention to some horrible disaster? What could have changed my son, so that he commits taboos and doesn't scream as screws are driven into his body?

What did I do wrong?

I'm glad he's strong, but  _this_. This is just - I must have done something unconscioncable. I must have. What kind of mother raises a son so - so  _inhuman_? No, that isn't the right word, but I feel so lost. Where is Van? Even more than when I was dying, I feel that I need him. I need someone. Someone to help me take care of my sons. I am obviously not enough.

Alphonse is still sweet and kind, but Edward - I still see his kindness, but only when he interacts with his brother now. He's not cruel - never! But he used to side with Al when he brought a stray cat home. By god, he used to bring the cats home before Alphonse was old enough to! There are always too many kittens in spring time. He would beg, and I would feel terrible for telling him no, but that we would find another owner for the cat. But now he just shrugs and says, "We can find someone else to take care of it." He never would have called a kitten  _it_ before.

He practically avoids his classmates now, who give him a wide berth anyway due to the automail. Even though we said it was an incident with a tractor, no one truly believes that. He even avoids Winry, to whom he used to be so close. But now he rarely looks her in the eye. It's like he's looking for someone else, and not finding her.

He's become so rough, hiding all the better angels of his nature like he's afraid those traits make him weak. Like he has to be strong, always. But for whom? I'm here. He shouldn't have to be strong. He's just a child.

Just a child.

I love him, and I am so, so afraid for him.


	7. the bulwhark

The rain is heavy and the river is flooding. 

I slip away when Mom and Al are distracted by the rushing torrent of water. My shoulder groans in protest; the damn rain always whacks out my automail port. I’d let Teacher come along and deal with this but I bet she would fuck up my timetable just to spite me. 

I have to do something now. Old Sal nearly died of drowning last time and Mary Jean broke her leg and walked with a limp ever after that. If Teacher were just a bit late…

Yeah, moving now. But, seriously, who came up with this shit? The freezing fucking rain crawls down my neck. Every branch decides to goes out of its way to slap me in the face with wet leaves. And I can’t seem to get any traction on this stupid muddy slope. I  _ hate _ the rainy season.

I end up slipping and sliding down the slope some, getting mud and leaves all over my clothes. That’s when I smack into the tree. Trees are assholes. After a nice minute of cursing to make me feel better, I brace my back against the tree and peer out. I can see from here that the river is bloated and about to break the bulwarks.

Asshole tree at least provides me with a good vantage point.

If only I could get closer! Then I could stabilize it until Teacher shows up. But I can’t let anyone see me: a kid performing complex alchemy is bound to raise some questions. Dammit, it’s so far away. I wish Mei’s talk about the damn “dragon’s pulse” made sense.

Get a move on, Fullmetal. Long range alchemy is just a new challenge, right?

Transmutations are powered by alchemical energy, which is redirected from the earth’s kinetic energy by an alchemist. The kinetic energy is converted into a kind of electrical energy. Earth is not a good conductor of electricity, but aluminum is. Not as good as copper, but aluminum is more abundant in the earth’s surface. 

So I first transmute the aluminum in the soil into as thick a wire as I can, through which the alchemic charge can pass. And there – mostly invisible structural supports for the bulwark. 

I clap and perform the transmutation, just like that.

I grin. Having difficult alchemy work is the best, especially when you’re kinda sorta maybe making up your own bullshit science. Pushing the limits of your ability is like reinventing yourself. I haven’t gotten to do any complex alchemy like this in  _ ages _ .

Now to work my way back up to my family.

When Mom sees me, she cries, “Where were you? I was so worried!”

I blink and look down. My cheeks feel a little warm against the cold. I hope I’m not getting a fever from the stupid rain.  “Oh, I…fell down the slope a bit.” 

“What?” she exclaims as she rushes over to me, Al in tow. She brushes her hands over my hair, which is falling out of its short braid. “If you had called us, we could have helped you.”

“I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

Mom holds my face close and looks into my eyes very seriously. “You never worry me like that again, young man.”

I shake my head emphatically. 

She stands and offers her hand for me to hold. I take it. Wow, her grip is strong.

When Mom is distracted by something one of the men is shouting, Al darts behind her back and whispers in my ear, “Brother, where were you really?”

I glare at him. “Who says I was anywhere? I fell down the slope, like I said.”

“No, you didn’t. You always get loud when you’re angry and falling down a slope would make you angry. You would have been shouting bad words and Mom would have scolded you. But you weren’t, so you didn’t fall.”

And then Al has the gall to look smug.

“You are so  _ annoying _ ,” I hiss.

“Means I’m ri-ight!” he sing-songs. His smugness is reaching  _ Mustang _ proportions and if that isn’t terrifying I don’t know what is.

“It means you’re annoying, not that you’re right!”

“Boys, hush,” Mom says.

“Sorry,” we chorus. I give Al my best death-glare, which, admittedly, isn’t very threatening on a nine-year-old’s face. He just sticks his tongue at me. Irritating twerp, I’ll show him – 

Our burgeoning skirmish is interrupted by the electric blue crackle of large-scale alchemy.

I can’t help my grin. Teacher’s here at last.

 

( _ Izumi Curtis _ )

When one of the pangs hit, the pain is so great that I want to curl up and not do anything. But where would I be if I shrank into myself at every little bit of pain? A woman like me can’t do that, or I’d never get anything done. Of course, sometimes it gets overwhelming, which is probably why I am waking up in an unfamiliar bed surrounded by a bunch of people I don’t know. 

I immediately search for Sig. He’s right by my bedside and as soon as he notices I’m awake, he grabs my hand and holds on tight. Oh, his hands are warm and big, and they make me feel safe even in a place like this. “How are you feeling, honey?” he asks.

“The usual,” I mutter. Louder, I ask, “What’s all this?”

One of the men in the packed room says, “We just wanted to thank you for keeping the river from flooding our homes. That was some impressive alchemy.”

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

“How do you do alchemy like that?”

It’s a young voice, so I look down. There are two boys standing by my bedside. One has eyes full of hero worship, which makes me uncomfortable. The other boy just seems relieved.

Hero worship boy continues, “It’s amazing!”

“Please teach us, miss!” the relieved boy says.

Hero worship blinks at the other boy, then turns to me with renewed vigor. “Yeah, please teach us!”

“I don’t teach people,” I say, getting out of bed.

The first boy says, “Please! We already know some alchemy – well, my brother knows a lot more than me but he hardly ever teaches me anything.”

“Shut up, Al,” the other mutters, elbowing the other. That’s strange. The boys look about the same age – why would one know “a lot” more alchemy than the other? If anything, he’s shorter than the other kid, so I thought he was younger. He looks up at me with the big wide eyes that kids seem to know I’m a sucker for; the one called Al quickly mimics this position. “Please, miss!” the boy cries.

“No,” I growl.

“ _ Please! _ ”

Damn those puppy dog eyes. I’m feeling ill; that must be why I’m so susceptible. “Why do you want to learn alchemy anyway?”

Al looks to his brother, who says extremely seriously, “Because we want to make life better for people.”

At this, Al grins and says, “Yeah, like making Mom smile!”

“Speaking of your mother, do your parents approve?”

As if on cue, their mother shows up. “Oh, I am so sorry! My boys should know better than to be a nuisance while you’re resting. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Your sons were just asking me to teach them alchemy. Do you approve?”

The boys look up at her with a strange mixture of determination and blatant puppy dog eyes. Al leans a bit more on the puppy side, whereas his brother is more determined.

Their mother grips them on the shoulders. “I...I think it would be good for them. To have a teacher. But…” Her grip tightens. Al squirms.

“That’s fine,” I begin to say just as the boy who had looked relieved says, “What if - what if we went to Dublith in a couple months?”

Had I mentioned Dublith? Maybe Sig had.

“Ed…” his mother says.

Ed continues, “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable with it! I think it would be really good for Al, and me. Please, Mom.”

“A  _ real _ alchemy teacher!” Al says. “I’ll be good forever, I promise!”

“I promised you, Mom.” Ed’s voice is both painfully earnest and serious. “I promised you, so please.”

Their mother’s knuckles whiten, and then she lets them go. “Only as long as Mrs. Curtis says she definitely wants to teach you. I would never want my boys to impose.”

The boys turn the full power of their earnest gazes upon me again. 

I sigh. “You boys will need to show me your skills and intelligence, and that I can teach you alchemy, and  _ then _ I will decide whether to accept you or not.”

“We won’t let you down!” Al cries. They have twin grins on their faces.

I look their mother in the eye. She has a kind face, though I can tell that it is a little strained. “You can call me Izumi.” I hold out my hand.

“I’m Trisha Elric, so call me Trisha.” She takes my hand and shakes it. “These are my two sons. Edward’s the older, and Alphonse is his younger brother.”

They both shake hands with me. As Edward’s hand slides into mine, I start. His hand is surprisingly cold.

Automail.

Huh.


	8. the military arrive

_ Dear Roy Mustang, _

_ I’m writing this letter because I have important information for you. It concerns the future of the country. You’re the only semi-high ranking officer that I know I can trust. (Lieutenant colonel, right?) _

_ Of course, you’re probably disregarding this already. Here’s something that will make you want to see me for sure: I know what the scars on Hawkeye’s back are from. I hope you don’t have your gloves on because I’m not sure if this letter isn’t ashes already. Maybe I’ll send a second just in case. Anyway, it’s not a threat. Really, it’s not! You don’t believe me, but it’s really not. I don’t even want to use that kind of alchemy (though, technically, I do know how it works). _

_ No, that was only to get you interested in coming. (And it was way more manipulative than my usual style, but I had to do something.) It’ll be tough to get you to believe me when you see me, and you’ll see why when you meet me. _

_ Next Friday, take the ten o’clock train to Risembool. You should arrive around three in the afternoon or so. There’s a restaurant right across from the train station when you arrive. You can’t miss it. I’ll be there. I’ll see you and wave you over to my table. Right in public, okay? By the window, if I can snag it. _

_ I don’t know how long you’ll be staying and I can’t put you up overnight, so you might need to make your own arrangements at the inn. _

_ And I’m sorry to dump everything on you only a few months after Ishval. I know it was - bad. But we have to get the planning jump started as soon as possible, and I can’t do it all. I can’t wait. You’re the best strategist I know. _

_ Say hi to Hughes for me. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Edward Elric _

 

 

( _ Roy Mustang) _

I wouldn’t have taken the ten o’clock train, except that there  _ is _ no other train going to Risembool this week. At all. So I’m stuck following this mysterious informant ‘Edward Elric’’s rules.

This…irritates me. Extremely.

Besides, I have no information on the man. He is not in any of our files. When I asked Hughes about him, he said he has no clue who he is. He then told me he’d look into it, but so far has come up with nothing. There’s no records of any Elric anywhere. However, that doesn’t mean much in small rural communities like this one. They are notoriously bad at record-keeping.

Hawkeye follows me a half-step behind as we exit the train station. This town is nearly microscopic, it’s so small _. _ The most significant things about the place are that there is a  _ sheep festival _ every year, of all things, and an automail business of quite good repute. It’s not difficult to find the restaurant that lies across the dusty path.

There’s no way to scout it out, so we enter, cautiously. We have no clue what our man looks like, so we’re completely reliant on his recognizing us.

“Oi, Mustang! Over here.”

The voice is strangely high pitched, and that is because it belongs to a  _ kid _ . The kid is sitting alone at a table by the window. He can’t be more than ten. He has blond hair drawn into a short braid and is wearing a black long-sleeved shirt.

Before I can stop myself, I’m frowning.  _ What exactly…? _ I glance at Hawkeye and she looks just as confused. 

The kid smirks at us as we approach. “Edward Elric,” he says and holds out a hand for me to shake. With a jolt, I realize it’s automail. Christ, how old is this kid?

“Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang,” I respond, sliding my hand in his. The metal is like ice.

This must be a joke. So this kid is ‘Edward Elric’? Sure, and I’m Fuehrer.  

“Ha! So I was right.”

Of course, that raises the question of how he knows about what is on Hawkeye’s back. And he claims to know flame alchemy? That shouldn’t be possible.

“Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.”

I doubt this kid is actually ‘Edward Elric’. A proxy? But why a  _ kid _ ?

“Are you gonna sit down, you guys? And stop gawking, Colonel. I know you are behind that poker face of yours.” The kid is looking at me with sharp gold eyes. I’ve never seen irises that color before. There are deep shadows underneath, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. This is the strangest kid I’ve ever met.

“I have a lot to explain,” the kid says.

“You sure do,” I say as I sit. I can hear people whispering as they watch us, but the kid appears unfazed.

“I know I do.”

And then the kid has the gall to be silent.

“If you’re going to explain, do it now.”

The kid jumps. “Fuck, yeah, sorry.” He curses without any of the small terror children tend to have when they first start using crude language. Perhaps not odd in and of itself, but strange when coupled with the boy’s many oddities. 

“This is going to sound weird as hell, but I’m from the future. In what’s now an alternate timeline, I was…well, let me reintroduce myself. I’m Major Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.”

 

My palm is clammy and sweaty as I wait for their reactions. I’m fine leaping right into the fray, but this damned  _ waiting _ …

Hawkeye’s lips are parted and her eyebrows are drawn together. Mustang is frowning, but part of his mouth is twitching upward, like he thinks this is all one great joke.

Dammit.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but dammit to hell anyway. I got very little sleep because I was worried about this. I was trying to come up with what to say to convince them, but I don’t have anything particularly good. I  _ have _ to convince them. Come on Elric, show time.

Come on,  _ Fullmetal _ .

“You, Mustang, sponsored me to take the exam when I was twelve, and I made it. Not much contest, really. I have a skill that Fuehrer would never pass up. I became a state alchemist under your command.”

Mustang doesn’t believe me; I can see it. But he plays along. “And this skill would be?”

“Circle-less  transmutation,” I answer with no hesitation.

“Impossible,” he immediately counters.

“No. Well, technically I form the circle within myself, but there is no drawn circle. Do you want me to transmute something?”

He considers for a moment. “Sure,” Mustang says, with the air of someone humoring a delusional kid. Of course, that is exactly what he thinks he’s doing.

I show him my mismatched hands. “No circles.” I clap my hands together and touch my palms to the table. Alchemical energy thrills through me. Oak and a thick layer of shellac shift (cellulose, lignin; carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and all the rest) and forms into a very badass gargoyle. 

Mustang is gaping behind his poker face as I transmute the table back before  Ol’ Joe can come and berate me for disfiguring his table. I even get rid of the old scratches for him; I’m so nice. 

After a moment, Mustang leans forward and rests his chin on steepled fingers. 

“Talk.”

I don’t know if he believes me or not, but he’s giving me a chance. Even though he’s a bastard, he’s always given me a chance.

(Of course, Hawkeye is giving me that look that’s not  _ quite _ a glare but promises death by bullet if I’m lying. Good thing I’m not.)

“Okay, um. So I traveled back to spring of ’04, ‘cause originally my mom died that year, leaving Al and me alone. Al’s my little brother – Alphonse Elric, ‘bout a year younger than me. We wanted her back, just wanted to see her smile again. So we began to work on a theory of human transmutation to bring her back. In 1910, I was eleven and Al was ten. And we did it.

“Or not really. Our theory wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t think that it would be completely  _ impossible _ .” I scowl and go on. “What we made wasn’t our mother. As toll to the Gate – oh, it’s basically this big set of doors, stone of some kind maybe, and holds all the knowledge in the world. Truth is this...being thing that presides over it and he’s one of the biggest bastards I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of bastards. Military, y’know.

“Anyway, as toll, I lost my left leg and Al, he lost his whole body. I bound his soul to a suit of armor that was in my father’s study – that’s where we did the transmutation, not like the asshole was using it. I lost my right arm as payment for that. So I saw Truth and the Gate a second time, which I’m not sure anyone had done before, except for maybe my damn old man and Father.

“I’ll get to him later. We, Al and I, were pretty fucked up for a while. I was basically an invalid ‘cause I was missing two limbs. I didn’t even try to do anything; I was completely useless as a big brother. Al was hurting all that time and I – anyway, that’s where you come in. Mustang, you had apparently caught whispers or something of genius alchemists and went with Hawkeye to check ‘em out. I think you were expecting some thirty year old men or something. But you found me and Al. 

“You were the one who convinced me to become a state alchemist by explaining ‘bout the research capabilities. So I did, ‘bout a year after getting automail. The Fuehrer gave me the title ‘Fullmetal’ when I was twelve. We were set on the Philosopher’s Stone so I could get Al’s body back. That’s where it all started for me. For you guys, it started in Ishval. As for the whole country, it started with the fall of Xerxes, my old man, and the homunculus Father…”

 

It’s taken a couple hours and a couple glasses of water, but all the important parts of the story are out. They know, and I think they might believe me. 

Hawkeye hasn’t spoken a word this whole time and Mustang asked very few questions during my story. Now he’s leaning back in his seat and mulling it all over. I wait, drumming my fingers against the table impatiently. He hates it when I do that, but out of the kindness of my heart I’m not using my automail hand. That would really drive him mad.

Our silence is interrupted by Winry appearing at the door. “Ed! I finally found you, you idiot! Why are you in here? Your mother’s calling for – who are they?”

My stomach drops. There was no way to hide me meeting with the military considering how small this town is, but I was hoping that meeting them out in the open would discourage the more vicious gossips and slow the rate of knowledge getting around. Refuge in audacity, right? I was hoping for some time before word got back to my family and the Rockbells. And now I have no time.

“Hi, Winry,” I say. At the name, Mustang quirks an eyebrow. “They’re Mustang and Hawkeye.”

“They’re from the  _ military _ ,” she says and takes a tiny step back. “Don’t they have to kill people?”

Her parents aren’t back yet; I don’t know if they survived Scar or not. I sent an anonymous letter, but still. 

Hawkeye looks down at her hands and I’m pretty sure that she is feeling the metal of the sniper rifle on her palms and fingers, warmed by body heat and the Ishval sun. Mustang just stares straight ahead, eyes a dull black.

Everybody has their hurts.

I’m not good with words. I don’t know what to say to make this right. If Al were here – Al from my time, my Al ( _ hey, stop that, Fullmetal; this  _ is _ your Al _ ) – he’d know just what to say. 

It’s Hawkeye who turns to Winry, looks her full in the eye, and says, “Yes. We do. We do it not because we want to hurt people, but because there are people we have to protect first.”

Winry is quiet for a moment. Hawkeye holds her gaze even as Mustang won’t look anyone in the eye just yet. Finally, Winry gives a very small nod and extends her hand. “I’m Winry Rockbell,” she says, manners as perfect as you please.

Hawkeye shakes her hand. “Riza Hawkeye,” she says, smiling.

Winry doesn’t quite smile in return.

She only nods at Mustang, who responds with his name and a charming grin that doesn’t completely cover the look in his eyes. He’ll have to work at that, but he’ll be better in a couple years.

I stand. “If my mom’s calling me, then I need to go.”

Mustang stands as well. “We’ll continue this conversation later. I particularly want to talk to you more about your theories regarding the sins as relating to alchemy. We can talk over lunch tomorrow.”

Though I’m not as versed in secret Mustang codes as those on his team, I’m pretty sure I can take this to mean that he believes me but he  _ definitely _ wants much more clarification on the homunculi. Awesome.

“Alright. You’re buying though.”

“Of course,” he sighs. I can tell that he’s thinking  _ well, he’s just a kid. How much can he eat? _ Ha, I’ll show him.

And then I’m whisked out the door by Winry. “Ed! What were you doing?” she hisses at me once we’re outside. She’s got my arm in a death grip.

“Ow! You’re going to rip my arm off! And we were just talking.”

“But they’re  _ military _ . They took my parents away. What if they take you away too?”

Oh.

Oh, shit. I try to smile at her but I – I…

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.

Not yet.


End file.
